


Illumination Theory

by Lumieerie



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Apollo!Bond, Fluff, Hand Feeding, Icarus and Apollo AU, Icarus!Q, Kissing, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Reincarnation AU, Soulmate AU, light banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumieerie/pseuds/Lumieerie
Summary: Q arched an eyebrow. “That’s not weird at all,” he said. James laughed and Q rolled his eyes, “Were you just in the right place at the right time? I struggle to see how someone like you,” he gestured to James’ whole being, “could have saved me.”“Someone like me? Dashing, well-built, and incredibly chivalrous?”“Incredibly annoying.”
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 7
Kudos: 108





	Illumination Theory

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to H for betaing for me <3

Q grinned, listening as the wind called for him. It led him through the mountain and up the path that led to the summit.

It wasn't often that the wind spoke to Q, but when it did, its words promised him the chance of a lifetime. One that catered to his desire for freedom. It gifted him with a sort of understanding that made up for the loss of his wings. He supposed it was a fair trade. 

The wind surrounded him, speaking it’s airy voice. He laughed in response. “I’m going,” he chided, his arms holding the wrapped mechanical wings close. _Third time’s a charm_ , the wind whispered in his ear. Another laugh and Q stopped quickly enough to prepare. 

He had calculated for months, identifying what he would need to make for a perfect trip down the mountain. Today met his expectations and clearly the wind agreed. The temperature was just right, not too hot and not too cold, just right so his wings wouldn’t suffer the same fate as the first two prototypes. 

Breathing out, Q slowly slid the wings on his back. He’d tested them before, jumping out of low-cut trees and off cliffs, now was the real test. To glide down a whole mountain and prove to himself and M that he was ready for what lay ahead. “I can do this,” he told himself as he relaxed his shoulders, eyes focused on the scenery below. 

Winter had touched suddenly in the night, leaving dusted white as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking, alluring. Q adored it. Winter had always been his favorite season. The snow glittered where the light touched it, reflecting off his glasses as he stood straight and fixed his posture. He braced himself and exhaled once more, counting down from five. 

The wind picked up some nearby leaves and beckoned for him to follow. It promised him everything he’d ever wanted: the chance to fly. The chance to breathe through rush-filled lungs and the chance to be embraced by the earth’s finest element. The wind wanted him and Q was thrilled with that knowledge.

When the leaves fell just off the edge, Q raced after them. He howled out something incoherent, voice faded in the chilly air. Then he plummeted downwards, a roller coaster in fast motion. 

The air consumed him. Filled with the sky’s blessing, Q spread his wings. His mechanical creation whirled with expectation as he turned, wanting the farscape above him to truly value him. To see him and know that he did it! He perfected his wings and finally took his place in the vast space above land. 

Then luck dismissed him and the sky laughed in his face. His right wing short circuited and shut abruptly. His pleasure dissolved into terror and his screams were deafened by the very wind that had invited him on this outing. Horror wrapped itself around him, dragging him further and faster down through the air with no chance of mercy from fate itself. 

_“Failure.”_

_“A shame, really.”_

_“I should have guessed.”_

The wind taunted him with its remarks, laughing as though it had played a cruel trick on him. Q cursed the sky, damning himself for listening to its tricks. He was doomed. He would perish unnamed and without a trace left to identify him. He almost wished he had told someone - anyone - his whereabouts. That would have hindered him, however. 

Q closed his eyes, accepting his own demise. He had flawed himself when he took up the challenge to build his own set of wings rather than succumb to the shame of having none. He had cursed himself when he accepted the deal he made with the wind element. 

He was ashamed of himself. 

Violently, Q landed in the arms of a stranger. Breath knocked out of him and half unconscious, he barely made sense of himself and said stranger. He blinked, eyes dazed and breath ragged. Had he died quickly enough to not feel pain? Had he been favored by the sky out of pity and allowed to be saved only to later be killed by his savior?

He passed out. 

Days pressed on by. 

His eyes opened to the sound of a piano in the next room over. He indulged himself in the music, thinking that whoever was playing played beautifully. Perhaps he had died and he was in heaven instead? Q allowed himself to sink into the comfortable bed he lay on, sore all over from his free fall fiasco. 

He enjoyed being dead. 

That was, until a voice interrupted him. It came from the same room as the piano melody. Was the player singing? They had to be. His ears tuned in. 

The words drifted through the air gently, calmly, but Q couldn’t place the language. Certainly not one he’d ever learned. It was entrancing. If he allowed himself, he would fall asleep to such a brilliantly toned voice. 

Despite its foriegn tongue, the song sounded familiar. Like an evening inside by the fire with one’s favorite book during a snowstorm. Cozy and soft: a lullaby. Q found himself humming along. He smiled and opened his eyes officially, blinking away exhaustion and pain and taking in the room. 

The aesthetics were vibrant in a royal-suite sort of way. Grays, whites, and blues spread out before him. The walls were decorated with trinkets that clashed slightly, in Q’s opinion. He pulled himself to sit and wondered briefly where he was. 

Nonplussed, he decided he didn’t care that much. He cared more for his injuries and why his shoulders ached. Then he realized that the weight of his wings was no longer on his person. He glanced around the room and grimaced. On the chair across from the bed sat his battered mechanical wings. 

“Damn the wind,” he muttered to himself as though it would make any sense to someone listening. 

The piano in the next room stopped its tune and Q frowned. He missed the calming song immediately. He inhaled. He could hear movement and knew that whomever had been playing was on their way to greet him. His stomach bubbled with nerves, his anxiety warned him of the worst possible scenario. 

In walked a handsome gentleman with the iciest blue eyes Q had ever seen. His hair challenged the snow, and worry lines creased his forehead as he looked at Q. He was also dressed down in a three-piece suit. Q chuckled softly, amused. Who wore a suit in the middle of winter? 

“Good morning,” the stranger addressed him with a curt nod. 

Q stared at him. “Where am I?”

“It’s considered polite to greet someone in return,” the blonde replied. “You’re at the base of the mountain, on the other side.” He moved over to where Q’s wings leaned on the chair. 

“What is a wingless creature like you trying to do with this mockery of appendages?”

Q’s eye twitched, suddenly annoyed. “Do you always get this impersonal on the first date,” he shot. 

Laughter met his ears. “I am merely curious. Shall we start over?” When Q nodded, the stranger continued. “Bond,” he got closer to the bed and offered out his hand. “James Bond.”

He eyed James for a moment, unsure whether to take his hand or not. He decided he wasn’t that much of a threat. “Q,” he said simply as he shook James’ hand. 

“A fine letter,” James commented. “I, myself, know an M.” 

Q doubted that. Who in their right mind would go by the simple letter of M? The only reason Q went by a letter alone was because he’d long since forgotten his real name. He’d been abandoned as a child due to his wingless disease. He scoffed at the memory before he looked back at James. “Did you save me?”

“You’re here aren’t you,” James gestured to Q’s body. “I changed your bandages this morning but let me know if they are too tight.” 

He stilled his tongue, watching James closely. Dark blue was his color, Q thought to himself. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Why?" 

James stared back at him, something akin to curiosity in his eyes. "I saw someone with wings falling despite their clear ability to fly, then I noticed that they were mechanical wings. Either you had a death wish or you're a terrible stunt double.” His lips curled into a smile as he spoke, watching Q’s expression.

“Are you hungry?” James continued after a second, turning his attention from Q’s broken wings and moving closer to his bed. Before Q had a chance to get defensive, James pointed to the bowl of grapes on the bedside table. 

“I can move my arms,” Q huffed, eyes not leaving James’ as he plopped down at his side and reached for the bowl. 

James nodded, “You can, but it would only be fair if I fed you, no? Unless you’re that opposed, then I won’t force you.”

The strangeness of it all was that Q wasn’t opposed. At all, actually. He should have been concerned about having this man anywhere near him - and yet. Q rolled his eyes as though this had happened before, and he nodded, waiting for James to feed him the first of the grapes. 

The problematic intimacy of being hand fed was that James kept eye contact as he fed Q. His icy eyes dared Q’s to look away as he gently pressed a grape against his lips. Soft and cold, wet to the touch - was he describing the grape or James’ fingertips? The subtle, torturously slow brush would have made his mouth water had he not already had a grape pushing past his lips. 

Q bit down slowly, watching as James pulled the rest of the grape away. He focused on the way he chewed, thinking of anything to keep his thoughts from the fact that James ate the second part of the grape with ease. He swallowed and, despite having tasted the grape juice, his throat felt dry. 

He averted his eyes, losing a fight with the blush on his cheeks. He’d only just met this man but it felt like this was a scenario they’d repeated so many times before. Q wasn’t sure if he hated it or not. 

He cleared his throat, “How were you able to save me? I know you said you saw me but only in movies do people actually catch someone midfall.” He’d never seen it happen in real life, anyway. 

James hummed. “Like the sun watches everything, I saw you working on your wings from time to time.”

Q arched an eyebrow. “That’s not weird at all,” he said. James laughed and Q rolled his eyes, “Were you just in the right place at the right time? I struggle to see how someone like you,” he gestured to James’ whole being, “could have saved me.”

“Someone like me? Dashing, well-built, and incredibly chivalrous?” 

“Incredibly annoying.”

“I heard the wind tricking you,” James finally said. 

It took a moment before what James said registered in Q’s mind. What? Q looked at the man and squinted his eyes. Was he being fooled? No, he couldn’t be. For some reason, his gut was telling him that James wouldn’t joke about things like that. “The wind speaks to you,” he asked incredulously. 

James leaned over, grabbed another grape, and plopped it in his mouth. His eyes glittered with a secret as he watched Q’s expressions turn. “In some ways. Did you think the wind only talked to you?”

“You’re being cryptic,” Q huffed. 

James smiled. 

Blush dusted Q’s cheeks suddenly, all too aware of the effect that smile had on him. It was as though the room was warmer. Lighter. Q looked away, then he glanced back and hated the way that his stomach flipped when James tilted his head, watching him. The rest of the scene played out in his head in a nostalgically romantic way: hands touching, a little confession, a press of lips - Q willed his thoughts away. 

He didn’t know James but everything about this felt so familiar. Like he’d met him a thousand times and had fallen in love with him immediately each time. How many times had they repeated this encounter? This foolish event of Q breaking his mechanical wings only to be saved by James Bond, Apollo reincarnate-

What?

“James, have we met before?” 

The way James’ smile widened told Q all he needed to know. 

“Depends, what would you do if I said yes,” he asked gently. 

That was a good question: _what would he do?_ Running away was clearly not an option with the state his wings were in, but did he really want to run away anyway? Accusing James of being a stalker also wouldn’t help. Claiming it was a joke probably wouldn’t be the best call, either. Would Q be relieved? Excited? Concerned? Maybe even intrigued if James told him ‘yes,’ instead of ‘no’. 

Secretly he hoped that James would tell him yes. 

“I would call you a creep,” Q said. Then he added, “But I would believe you. I think we’ve met before…just not in this life.”

“What would you do if I confirmed that?” 

“Cry?” Q offered a shrug. 

James snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to cry on our first date.”

His words awakened something within Q. Another memory, a moment in time when Apollo’s gaze had lingered on him, a smug look on his face. He repeated the very words James had said to him just now, only he was helping Q to stand. Then they embraced and Q imagined himself crying, shaking in the arms of the man he loved. 

The man who was now sitting on the bed with him. The man who was clearly his…

“I don’t believe in soulmates,” he argued more to himself than to James. “But I think you might be the Apollo to my Icarus.”

James nodded as though Q had mentioned the weather. _Had he known already?_ “I missed you, Q.” His voice dipped low, soft and calming. 

The confirmation affected Q more than it should have. His mind wrapped around itself, becoming a labyrinth of delight and confusion. Questions formed and answered themselves before he could speak them. Reincarnation and myth were one thing, but soulmates? Reincarnated soulmates? He had a lot of research to do. 

His eyes flickered to James and Q flushed deeper. “I missed you too,” he said impulsively. He _wouldn’t_ have said it any other way. Absolutely not. No matter how much he meant it and no matter how much he wanted to reach out and- 

“I understand how strange this is,” James started. Then he moved up on the bed, closer to Q, and took his hand! Q could have melted from that simple touch alone. “Take all the time you need to collect your thoughts, Q. I am not going anywhere: not now when I’ve finally found you again.” 

Then James pulled his hand away and made to move. Q didn’t like that. He reached out almost instinctively and dragged James back towards him with more force than necessary. Now it was as though James hovered over him, close enough for Q to lean up and-

“There’s no rush,” James whispered. 

“I know,” Q whispered, looking at James’ lips before he met his eyes. “But I would like to kiss you.” He debated on framing it as ‘I want to be sure you’re my soulmate,’ but deep down the truth was that Q had wanted to kiss James since he heard him playing the piano. Whether or not they really were the reincarnations of Icarus and Apollo be damned, soulmate research be damned, all of the things that were not James and Q in this moment be damned. 

Their lips barely brushed together, hesitant and nervous at first. Then fire erupted all around them when James deepened the kiss, swallowing the delighted mewl Q released. 

In mythology, flying too close to the sun meant one’s downfall. Instead, the opposite happened as Q kissed James. A summer’s day of heat filled him, welcomed him, and he melted in the passion. It engulfed him and dragged him further down into its pleasant embrace, mocking mythology and proving it wrong. This wasn’t a bittersweet end to a romance novel of a boy falling too hard, this was the beginning to reunited lovers. 

“Do I have to call you Apollo now?” Q teased lightly when they pulled apart for air. He ran his fingers through James’ hair as the other cupped his cheeks. 

“Heavens no,” James said. “James is a lovely name. As is Quentin.”

“No one’s called me that for years.”

“They don’t know you like I do,” James replied cheekily. 

Q just laughed and shook his head, endeared. He tried to push James away but that only resulted in another kiss. 

A promise of many more to come. 

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for the fandom, I'm so excited <3


End file.
